


your name ain't a safeword

by c_doves



Series: aint a safeword [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Boot Worship, Bottom Matt Murdock, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't Examine This Too Closely, How is that not a tag yet?, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, I swear there was a plot when I was planning this, Kneeling, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, actually its pretty blatant, just pretend I'll actually make this a series, the identity reveal is not actually dealt with in this fic, top Frank Castle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c_doves/pseuds/c_doves
Summary: When Daredevil's secret identity gets outed to the world, he hides at the one place no-one would expect him to go. Frank Castle thinks Red should get what he deserves.





	your name ain't a safeword

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookyleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyleo/gifts).



> Part of the [Daredevil Exchange](https://daredevilexchange.tumblr.com/) for [avengers4](https://avengers4.tumblr.com). I'm fairly sure your ao3 account is spookyleo, but message me and I'll fix if up if I'm wrong. 
> 
> Hopefully edited enough.

 

A persistent knocking brings Frank quickly to awareness. He could count on one hand the number of people who knows where he lives and none of them are likely to drop by for a social visit. Throwing off his blanket, Frank rolls out of bed in one swift move, grabbing his pistol from the bedside table as he goes. Careful to tread lightly, Frank steps silently to the door, though not standing directly in front of it. Being gunned down through the door isn’t the least likely scenario here, and Frank didn’t get this far in life by taking unnecessary risks. The knocking stopped as soon as Frank’s feet touched the ground - which isn’t suspicious _at all_. Frank’s worries are lessened though as a familiar voice calls out “Frank, let me in”.

Red, then.

Frank holds the pistol, pointing it down but clicking the safety off in case Red has been compromised. He opens the door quickly, lets his eyes sweep over the hallway to confirm the lack of hostiles, before coming to settle on the man at his door.

The pre-dawn light doesn’t do much to hide the bruises blooming on Red’s knuckles, and his breath is unusually shallow. Frank is half discomfited by Red’s decision to switch back to his black pyjamas, rather than the red fetish-wear. The suit was great for intimidation, ridiculous as the horns were.

But the black clothing doesn’t give the same aura of danger, actually softens Red’s persona, leaving him looking almost - vulnerable, in comparison. The black fabric wrapping his head allows for more expression to show through, pulled taut as it is over his brows and cheekbones. How the fabric continues to be so opaque even up close, Frank doesn’t know. It’s obviously sheer enough underneath that Red doesn’t give any sign of being at a disadvantage.

Red seems to be assessing him, and Frank raises an eyebrow. Whatever the test, Frank thinks he’s passed because Red lowers his gaze and mumbles out “I need a place to hide out for a bit.”

Awww hell no, he isn’t running a half-way house for idealistic heroes.Not that he’s hang Red out to dry, but he can’t have judgement personified shadowing him either, Frank isn’t that much of a masochist. He steps aside for Red to enter at least, this isn’t a discussion for the hallway of his apartment. Red must take it as acceptance though, his shoulders lose some of their tension and he give a small, awkward smile, glancing fleetingly at Frank before striding in.

He doesn’t even make it as far as the sofa before his steps falter, though. Frank sees him glance between the single bar stool at the kitchen counter, and the ratty two seater before dismissing both in favor of pulling out an old flip phone and pressing some buttons.

He glances at Frank “Sorry, I just, I have to let - I have to contact someone.” He turns away before Frank can roll his eyes. Damn, Frank is so not dealing with this right now. He heads into the kitchen to give Red at least the semblance of privacy, starts making coffees for them both, but still totally listens in. As if that was even in question.

“Hi F-, um. Hey.”

“No, I’m not injured, I’m fine,” Red glances back at Frank, and is he looking guilty?

“Yeah, I know, I -” a pause, then, “I don’t know how, I only just found out!” The other person must have quite a bit to say, Red just winces a few times before cutting in.  
  
”Look, I need you to listen, you’re not safe. You and Kar-” again, Red cuts himself off, but Frank ain’t no idiot. Daredevil had worked with the staff of Nelson and Murdock, and he’d put good money on that last name being Karen Page, because apparently there is no such thing as six whole degrees of separation.Which Red must be talking to one of the lawyers - Foggy.

Red covers his slip, thinks he’s being sneaky. “You both need to go somewhere you can be protected, at least until we work this out,” and what Frank wouldn’t do to hear the other end of the conversation.

“Right, do you have a pen and paper? No, write this down,” and Red rattles off a mobile number.

“Tell him you’re friends with Daredevil and you need to get in contact with Stark. __Yes__ , Tony Stark. No,” and then, almost reluctantly, “…Spider-man?”

And apparently that’s not the right answer to whatever the question was, judging by the agitation he can just make out coming over the line. The conversation ends quickly after that, with Red promising to call Foggy of whoever it is back, Frank doesn’t pick up any more hints about what’s going on, but it’s really got Red thrown off kilter. Frank finishes the coffees, doesn’t know how Red usually has his but figures something strong and sweet wont be amiss right now. Red’s watching him again, and Frank wonders what he’s thinking.

“How long’re you planning on crashing here?” He asks, and that wasn’t what he’d planned to say, but fuck it, he may as well know what he’s up against.

He holds the coffee out and Red takes a long drink almost desperately, before answering. “I’ll check in with some people tonight, see how everything’s going and hopefully I can relocate then.” His voice sounds apologetic, but now Frank knows this wont be the long, drawn out sleepover party he was expecting, he’s fine with Red lying low here. It’s only one day, after all.

 

 

An hour later and Red is walking a groove into his floor with all the pacing. He ate barely any of the omelette Frank shoved in front of him, too busy radiating nervous energy, so Frank finished both their breakfasts off himself; waste not, want not and all that. When Red starts making his third coffee though, Frank decides he can’t stand the nervous energy practically radiating off him. Grabbing the coffee tin deftly, he decides “you ain’t having more of that, you’re already too jittery.”

Frank might not be able to see through the mask, but the glare Red is giving him is ridiculously over the top, even for him. “I’m not some kid,” Red starts, stepping forward and obviously trying to be intimidating. Frank barks out a laugh, “yeah, no. You ain’t far off it though. You look like you’d blow over in a strong breeze.”

Frank doesn’t expect to get a reaction to that, even when overwhelmed and off his game, Red is clearly not someone to mess with. He obviously hasn’t taken into account how worked up Red’s gotten though, as the man gives him a sharp shove to his solar plexus.

It is enough to make Frank stumble back a step and Red looks satisfied, readying himself like he’s waiting for an attack. Really? Fucking hell, was the kid going to be like this all day?

Frank can not believe Red is being so ridiculously transparent. He shakes his head instead. “What’s eating at you, Red? This ain’t like you.”

“You don’t know what I’m like,” Red retorted. “Come on, I can take you,” he bounced on his feet, dropping slightly into a fighting stance.

Frank can’t help it, he barks out a laugh. “Yeah kid, you’d give it a good shot. What’s got your panties in a twist then?”

Frustration pouring off him in waves, Red growls; picks up his empty mug and throws it - hard - against the far wall.

Frank is on him in an instant, pushing him into the counter from behind and twisting his arm back and up, taking away his mobility - unless Red’s desperate enough to get free by dislocating his own shoulder or something.

“Now listen here Red,” Frank starts, voice calm and firm. He’s surprised that Red isn’t at least trying to wriggle loose, pinned between Frank and the counter as he is, “you’re freaking out, I get that. But my walls ain’t done nothing to you, and I don’t like you tryin’ to pick a fight with me over whatever this is.” Frank waits, he’s expecting a snarl or maybe some swearing. He isn’t expecting Red to slump, all the energy leaving him in a shuddering breath.

Frank doesn’t loosen his grip, too ready for subterfuge to by tricked like that, but he doesn’t think Red is faking. Keeping Red’s arm twisted up behind him, Frank moves a few inches back, so Red’s body isn’t pressed so painfully into the counter.

“It - It’s all over,” Red forces out, the words sounding ripped from him. “I can’t, I - I don’t know what to do!”

No, no, no, no. Frank can feel the Red’s body start to shake and he can’t do this, isn’t ready for feelings and navigating something that could bring Red so undone. It’s obviously not urgent, not anything they could prepare for or fight against. Because there’s no way Red’d be pacing __the Punisher’s__  apartment of all places if he could be doing something to fix whatever’s happened. Frank can feel the desperation in Red to do something, anything, to that could help. He’s familiar with the feeling of helplessness, the itch of inactivity when something blows up in his face.

He can’t do feelings, but Frank thinks he can help with __this__. And if it goes pear-shaped? Well at least Red’s in no state to laugh at him, so there’s that, at least. Frank leans in a little again, just the slightest hint of pressure, of taking __control__.

He really hopes he’s not making a huge mistake.

“Listen here, Red,” and Frank makes his tone sound as matter of fact, as unquestionable as he knows how. “There’s a dustpan under the sink. You’re gonna clean up your mess - every last bit, mind you, I’m not gonna be responsible for your tantrum” and Red has gone still is listening but its a fragile thing; Frank can only hope this fucked up situation falls the right way up. “Then you’re going to sit your ass down at the kitchen counter, and fucking eat what I put in front of you, ya hear?” despite the swearing, Frank keeps his voice calm and level. Sure with a confidence he doesn’t __actually__ feel. Red needs a distraction, needs a task to focus on and Frank just hopes this’ll help. He takes a step back, releasing Red and waits.

 

 

It feels like an ice age before Red reacts, still slightly leaning over the counter with his back to Frank. He makes an aborted movement to turn to Frank, flinching back before its even really begun. His breathing hitches and he pauses a stands frozen for a few more seconds. Frank can tell the second he decides on a course of action. Red doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t look anywhere near Frank as he keeps his head down. But he goes from still indecision, to a flurry of movement in the blink of an eye. Red steps past him and rips open the cabinet with more force than necessary before dropping to his knees. The dustpan’s at the back, not that there’s that much in any of his cupboards, but Frank ain’t one for sweeping up little dust-piles, would rather just sweep them right out his front door and be done with it, so he only knows its there from when he puts his two saucepans away.

And maybe the middle of Red’s crisis is not the time to be thinking of Red on his knees, his first ass perfect for grabbing and -

Nope. Frank is stopping that thought, _ _right there__.

Red doesn’t take more than a few seconds to grab the dustpan. Stands, still avoiding meeting Frank’s eyes by the looks of it - no surprise there - and drops down in front of the worst of the mess.

Not wanting to spook him, or worse, get his hackles up now that he’s successfully averted some hand-to-hand against someone a little too trained for him to be confident in his victory, Frank turns to the fridge and pulls out bacon and bread. It’s not an extravagant breakfast by any means, but it gives Frank something to do and takes the spotlight off Red.

What the fuck is he gonna do next? Frank’s only got… maybe ten hours to fill? He considers his options for offloading the vigilante to someone better suited to dealing with this bullshit, and comes up short. Well fuck, that’s just __peachy__ , isn’t it. He resolutely doesn’t glance over at Red, on his hands and knees in Frank’s apartment, __fuck__.

Frank doesn’t need a psychology degree to get that this is a fragile truce at best, can tell just by Red’s jerky movements and the flush of his cheeks (embarrassment? shame? anger?) visible below his mask as he passes. Red’s following his orders right now because its helping distract him from whatever thoughts are circling around his head. Frank knows the surety in following the chain of command, the ease of decisions that are not his own.

Breakfast isn’t ready when Red, efficient as ever, hesitatingly comes over to sit at the lone bar stool. Frank shoves the plate of toast, knife and butter at him, gives him that task to buy himself a couple more minutes. The silence is pressing on Frank in a way that it usually doesn’t, but he’s not going to break it if he doesn’t need to, doesn’t want to say something to undo the tense peace that has settled over the kitchen. They finish their breakfasts in silence, Frank standing across from Red, who doesn’t look up even once, though his heated cheeks tell Frank that he’s aware __just__ how weird the situation really is.

Just as Red starts to fidget, Frank says, “The towel in the bathroom is clean. You should clean yourself up, wash that blood off,” he really should have offered that __before__ they ate. Frank shakes his head at his thoughts, Red’s a grown man and could’ve dealt with it whenever he wanted.

It’s with relieve that he hears the shower start. He’d actually meant that Red should clean his hands up in the sink, maybe wash his face or whatever he usually did. Not that Red wasn’t welcome to the shower - he definitely looked like he needed it, the night’s grime visible even in the dull apartment lighting. It simply hadn’t actually occurred to Frank, so used to military efficiency and necessity. But now he had extra time to think; Frank wasn’t one to look a gift-horse in the mouth.

 

 

 

Of course, when Red steps out of the bathroom, only to hesitate on the threshold of the hallway, Frank is maaaaybe questioning his good sense. Red is __built__. For someone so slight, what little body mass he has appears to be completely made up of taut, strong muscle. He was wearing that damn mask again - at least, Frank assumes he’d taken it off for the shower - and is wearing the towel around his waist, but that leaves a - whole - lot of skin that Frank __probably__ shouldn’t be staring at.

He’s definitely too too obvious about it, because a blush creeps up Red’s chest as he ducks his head, and that bashful look _ _is not helping__.

Frank averts his eyes quickly, points to the next door along. “Closet’s in the bedroom.” he offers gruffly, “Help yourself.”

“Uh, thanks,” Red pauses, seemingly undecided, before slipping into Frank’s bedroom.

 _ _Gods__. Frank tries to will away his erection, isn’t actually trying to take advantage here.

 

 

 

When Red reappears a few minutes later, he’s found a t-shirt that’s absolutely swimming on his compact frame, and… boxers?

I… none of your trousers would stay up.” he shrugs helplessly. “I figured this is okay.” it’s __almost__ worded as a question. Frank gives an affirmative hum, anyway. He is definitely not thinking about how - possessive - seeing Red in his clothes leaves him feeling.

It takes him a second to realise Red is fiddling with something, and another one to identify it as a tin of boot polish.

Red clears his throat before starting, nodding his head towards Frank’s army boots by the door. “I figured I could - I can make myself useful while I’m here?” his cheeks are flaming, and Frank thinks he didn’t actually intent for that to come out as a question. He wonders if the blush went away from before; if Red’s chest is just as flush as it was minutes ago.

Stopping that thought __right there__ , thankyouverymuch.

He is so going to hell right now, because this? Frank is no stranger to porn, he was in the __army__ for fuck’s sake. And even a goddamn saint couldn’t miss the connotations of what Red was saying.

Frank scrutinises Red, tries to read more of his expression underneath the mask. The younger man’s hands continue to fidget nervously, but he holds his head up like he’s challenging Frank to say something.

 

 

 

For a moment, Frank lets himself wonder how far Red believes he can take this while pretending its nothing. Wonders what Red’s next attempt would be if he pretended to buy the innocent act and indulge him.

He doesn’t though. Frank doesn’t play coy, doesn’t muddle into this dynamic with only the hope that his partner will speak up if he oversteps or misunderstands. If they’re doing this - and Frank is one hundred percent on board with doing this if Red doesn’t spook - he’s not going to be subtle about it.

Fuck it. Red wants to play?

“You're not doin’ it unless you do it properly,” he stands. “Wait there.” Frank motions to the the floor directly in front of his seat, then marches over to the door to scoop up the combat boots. When he turns around again, Frank is relieved to see Red on his knees, waiting, instead of backpeddling at the obvious change of pace. Frank returns to his seat and doesn’t acknowledge Red right away. He pulls a pair of clean socks on - had them tucked into his right boot ready to go - and takes more time than necessary loosening the boots’ laces. He’s pretending to ignore the way Red’s breathing has sped up, the way Red holds himself still, the jittering completely gone and the tension easing from his shoulders. Slipping first the right boot on, then the left, Frank begins lacing them back up.

“What’s your safeword?” Frank asks halfway through tightening the laces.

“Uh - I’m not, I don’t -”

Frank doesn’t even let Red finish his denial before he interrupts. "You deserve to be able to let go, but I can’t be the one to help you if you wont let me," he pauses before asking again: “your safeword?” The question is sharper this time and he makes the warning clear in his tone.

Red drops his head, a shiver running over his body. “Sunset,” he half-whispers, but Frank’s definitely paying attention. He’d like to think he’ll have Red’s attention all day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know a safeword is more for dubious/non-consent play, but it worked as a way of acknowledging that they were both on the same general page, okay? Just run with it.


End file.
